Restoration
by Circe Rose
Summary: A young woman persuades her husband to purchase a run-down manor in the Scottish highlands, ignoring the warnings of a nearby village. When she begins to restore it, she learns her new acquisition is already occupied.


Disclaimer - I do not lay claim to any characters or original ideas from Bram Stoker's _Dracula._

This was written for an assignment in a writer's craft class a few years ago. I dug it up recently to share with you lovely readers...I'm quite fond of it, although horror is not my preferred genre of writing or reading. As far as Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ goes, this is quite AU. I am essentially just borrowing his main character. Set in the early 1900's. Do enjoy :)

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**Restoration**

I have no doubt, as I put pen to paper, that this is the last document I shall ever write. Perhaps a strange statement, but no more bizarre or morbid than the events of the past few days which compel me to write.

The manor Charles and I bought last summer – how long ago that seems! – is as dilapidated and ruinous as ever. I remember thinking as we toured it, "what a grand old place this must have been!" Dear Charles relented to my wish of purchasing and restoring it. The practicality of my husband used to frustrate me to no end, but now I regret with every fibre of my being that I succeeded in swaying him to splurge on this ridiculous ruin. I curse my folly, even as I recall how hard he was to persuade. Of course, Charles claimed that the superstitions of the local villagers had nothing to do with his reluctance to buy...I did not believe him then, and am now paying the price for tempting fate.

I arrived yesterday morning to begin my plans of restoring the manner. Charles is – was – to join up with me at the week's end. I pray now that he does not come; that something might detain him in Edinburgh. I should be loathe to share with him whatever my dreadful fate is to be.

Perhaps I should explain why I chose to restore this manor and not a charming English estate in a more hospitable clime. Well, I have always held an attachment to the rugged beauty of the highlands, and Clobragh Manor (for that is its name) seemed to be perfectly situated. There is a lake not half a mile from here and the grounds are touched on one side by threshold of a mountain range, and on the other by the edge of a wild moor. The manor itself must have once been impressive...the remains of ivy cling to its crumbling walls, and one can surmise that the vast gardens must once have been the owner's pride and joy – although now they are little more than a tangled mass of weeds.

The interior is in a better state then one might expect from Clobragh's outward appearance. There is a wing off the dining hall that is liveable, although only temporarily. That is where my luggage was placed and where I had planned to start my drawings and restorations.

I work best when I am alone, and therefore dismissed Liam, the charming old man Charles and I bought the manor from. Being the practical and worrisome individual he is, my husband insisted that Liam stay with me until Charles could join me himself. I remember laughing to myself as he made those annoying arrangements. I had solemnly agreed, all the while knowing that I would send Liam back to his village when I was properly set up. What a stupid, foolish decision! I should have reconsidered when Liam so earnestly insisted upon staying...damn my stubbornness! But there is no use in wishing that I had done differently now.

As soon as Liam left, I took to exploring and discovering as much as I could about the passages and corridors of Clobragh. From what I had gathered from the garbled Gaelic of the villagers, the manor has a complex network of underground vaults and chambers. Well, now I can certainly testify to there being a maze of passages...but I am getting ahead. As soon as I had lit a lantern and descended the stairs off the dining hall, I noticed a definite change in the air. Of course, being the impractical dunce I am, I blamed my chilled arms on the lack of a shawl. However, as I now think of it, the cold air was not entirely normal. Usually, one expects to encounter a change in temperature when going underground – as I did. But it is not the temperature that sets this place apart from other underground chambers. The air is stale and musty, from having been closed in. Yet, as I noticed this, I thought it odd that I felt a continually moving draft of cold air. I had to hold my lantern quite steady so that the breeze did not upset the flame.

The bottom of the stairs gave me three choices – a long corridor stretching to the left, a small chamber with a door at the end on the right, or a heavy wooden door with a rusted iron handle in the middle. I reached for the handle of the door and pulled, but snatched my hand quickly back when I felt something – a very hairy something – brush against my knuckles. From the underside of the handle crawled the most horrid spider I had ever seen. And such odd behaviour it had too! It merely sat on the handle, its fat behind swaying slightly as it stared at me. One would expect a spider to scurry away from the presence of a creature so much larger then itself. But I suppose that one had little to worry about – it was easily bigger then my fist. I took the left corridor instead, and let the repulsive creature keep its door handle.

The corridor seemed endless, with only my feeble lantern to illuminate it. I remember thinking how much work lay ahead of me...the stones on the ground were uneven and split in many places, and torch brackets that once hung on the walls littered the passage. The walls themselves are dismally neglected. They are severely crumbled, and dripping with moisture from some underground runoff. I had to put my hand out to steady myself several times, and became slightly nauseous from the slime and mould that touched my skin.

As I've mentioned before, I work best when I am alone. It is therefore quite easy for me to tell when another is near. But I am not always right...which led me to believe that I truly was alone in that corridor...save for the rats and the dripping water. The rats! I forgot to mention them before. The manor is surely infested with them, if my recent wanderings are any indication. They are horrible...dark black mangy fur covers them from tip to tail. Their teeth were like tiny knives glinting in the light of my lantern. But their eyes were the most peculiar and horrid thing about them. Every rat had lurid red eyes, which frightened me quite a bit. I considered turning back when a few of the little monsters actually nipped at my heels, but decided to press on. What inexcusable folly!

I turned into a room on the left, and, though my lantern only illuminated a small area, I could tell I was in a large space. The dripping of water was much louder in the cavern...it must surely be a cavern, for I stepped right into what is undoubtedly an underground lake! That was perhaps the most awful surprise – not counting what happened after. I was so shocked at the sudden plunge my foot had taken that I slipped when trying to back away. I screamed as my feet fell from under me and I landed, lantern and all, in a foot or two of frigid water. I especially remember my scream. It echoed appallingly off the walls and over the lake. I scrambled backward and sat huddled on the bank, my teeth chattering and my hair dripping into my eyes. I can't tell how long I sat there. I was afraid to move, as one sometimes is in the utter darkness of an unknown place. It was only when I remembered the rats that I had enough sense to stand and grope my way to the passage I had come through. My mind was numb with cold and revulsion. I was forced to run my hands along the slimy walls of the corridor, touching more than once several hairy, eight-legged somethings.

I think I was following – or walking toward, I should say – what I assumed to be the faint light from the upper dining hall. I now fail to understand what paralysis of mind allowed me to overlook the fact that the light I was walking toward flickered. What a silly creature I am! Daylight does not flicker! It was only after I had turned twice that I realized my mistake. In confusion, I attempted to pass back through the last doorway, only to find that what had moments ago been empty space was now blocked by a solid wooden door. I pushed and pulled at it like a madwoman, regardless of what my hands might have encountered on the handle. I think it was then that I became truly afraid...of what, I could not know, as I had not seen _him_ yet...but I was frightened just the same. In a sort of numb resignation, I turned from the door and entered a small chamber lit with a single red candle. I stared in mounting horror at this oddity. One would think, what on earth is terrifying about a candle? But I cannot answer that. The horror I felt was the instinct of one who is trapped and must meet the thing that holds the key to freedom.

I remember just standing there, staring at that candle for what seemed like an eternity. I don't know why I simply did not take the candle and search for a way out. I only knew that there was nothing to do but wait. Though it seemed like forever, it could not have been long before the door opposite me swung slowly open, throwing the light of several flickering candles into the chamber. As one possessed, I walked forward, blinking in the sudden light.

I thought I had walked into hell. Not the raging fires of the Pit, but an elegant and morbidly silent chamber, like the Devil's sanctuary. (Those words may be truer than I thought.) Everything was red – the candles, the heavy drapes along the walls, the magnificent four poster bed in the center of the room...and, oddly enough, a full length evening gown of deep scarlet satin draped over a chaise longue of the same colour with gilt clawed feet. As I registered the abnormality of all this richness in the depths of the crumbling manor, the door closed behind me with a dull and echoing thud.

Fixed to the spot, the hairs at the nape of my neck rose as I sensed the closeness of someone...no, some_thing_. I stood practically paralysed as a hand, cold as the grave, slowly pulled my hair from my shoulders and traced the lines of my neck. An iron grip caught my arms and turned me to face the most frightening man I have ever laid eyes on. No description can possibly convey the horror...and...and...allurement of his countenance. But I shall try...

He seems young, but at the same time, as old as the stones that crumble with this manor. In contrast to the overwhelming redness of this chamber, he was dressed all in black, wearing even a black silk cape and a black cravat. His hair is worn slicked back, and falls just to the nape of his neck. But his face is what truly frightens me. The skin has a cold pallor, the like of which I have only seen on the face of the deceased. His cheekbones are high and his nose Roman. But his lips...they are red, stained as though with blood. (And I fear that blood all too often passes through them.) His eyes are red also, a deep and hypnotizing scarlet that seems able to see into my very soul.

As he held me in his unforgiving grip, he stared at my horrified expression and smiled slowly. My God, I saw his teeth...They do not belong to a man! They are sharp and longer than teeth ought to be.

His smile grew as my eyes widened at this new horror. I suddenly stepped back and almost fell when he unexpectedly released me. I hastily backed away in fright, until he spoke.

"You must forgive my manners, mademoiselle." His voice was quiet, deep and subtly seductive, yet hard as knives. I think he said something ridiculous about not being accustomed to entertaining guests. I said nothing, but shrank away when he reached for my hand. My back hit the side of a piano which dominates the corner of this chamber. I could do nothing as he raised my hand to his lips, in the customary greeting of a gentleman.

I realized then who this dreadful man was...the villagers had spoken of a creature of the night, one whose teeth dripped blood. He did not need to feign the cordiality of an introduction or tell me his name. The villagers had muttered it and crossed themselves.

"Dracula," I whispered.

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A/N: Well, my dears? I haven't decided if I will continue this, or let it be as a one-shot. Kindly drop a line or two.


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